"Hello, everyone. My name is Steven, and I'm going to be your counselor for your remainder here at Bon Reve. Now, I understand many of you don't wish to be here, let alone speak, but that's not the right way to look at it. You've been brought here because you have become seperated from society, and we're here to try and help you understand why and get you right back in!" Steven says this with playful emphasis. None are moved. Steven is undeterred.

"Alright, why don't we start with you, sir. You can tell us as much or as little as you'd like, but at least for today, you can't pass. Tell us your name, why you're joining us today, and, if you're comfortable enough with it, why. Alright?" The man nods.

"Name's Kowalski. I'm 31. I'm here because I got taken down trying to destroy City Hall. It was a routine gig, y'know, typical for guys like us, but I ended up eviscerating two heroes. I don't know why, I just snapped. I tore Absolute Zero in half. You never forget their eyes, man. You never, ever forget that shit...Yeah, anyway, I tore him up and decapitated Wildboy. It was pretty fucked up, and I admit that. Next thing you know, the whole kit and kaboodle's after me. Every fucking superhero in a 20-mile radius went crazy on me. So, saying I got anger problems and being a super villian and all, I got sent here. They got me on these pills called Noxadrain, which 'suppress the extraordinary potential of convicted super felons', and they're all right, c'ept my hands can't fucking stop shaking, and my piss tingles." Kowalski's hands have vibrated like a motor his entire speech.

"Thank you, Kowalski, that was very insightful and appreciated. I'm very happy you touched upon the experience that brought you here. That shows a lot of bravery." Steven looks at the others. "Talking about what made you a super villian will bring you one step closer to being a normal member of society, or even a superhero!" Steven giggles. Someone smells coffee.

"Alright, any volunteers? Try to explain yourself as much as our new friend Kowalski did. Don't be afraid to tell us anything."

A man spoke, from outside the group. He was still in the circle, but he had managed to extirpate himself from the others.

"WHY dOes SometHing havE to made us tHIs way."

He spoke softly, looking at the ground between his feet, his long, frayed black hair cast before his face; yet he displayed no weakness. He spoke with deliberation, as if every word he said had been planned and judged several times over in his mind before being delivered. Despite the wavering tones in his voice, he belied no emotion when he spoke.

"Can it nOt just Be whAt wE ARE. OR mUst You sEek to dIagnose and eXplain every facet of us, so tHat You can 'cure' us, anD make uS youR deFinitIon oF 'nOrMAL'."

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This isn't about you and your loud mouth,This is about me and my fucking beard.

Steven's head snaps into place. Steven is displeased. "Because we want you to be productive members of society! That's the goal of all penitentiaries. This just happens to be one built for people such as yourselves who are capable of more than most. We put you all at a much higher priority than other criminals. As superpowered humans, you have the ability to make the world a much better place! You just need to get your heart in the right place." Steven is pleased with his timely response.

"Would you like to tell us about yourself, sir, or is there any others who would like to cooperate?"

"Well, I ain't talkin' to a fag like you. look at you, wif your goddamn scrubs, what does dis look like? A goddamned Hospital? You gunna make us betta doc? You gunna straighten out the bad in us? You think I look like a goddamned pussy fruitcake like you? Pfft, Like I'm gonna talk about feelin's. Don't be ridiculous doc, you're just a douchebag with your goddamned Ryan Seacrest haircut, and your fruity little baby face. I just wanna pop you twice in the mouth, once cause you deserve it, and the second cause you look like you're gonna fuck me in the ass in a one on one 'psychological profile.' Fuckin' Fag."

A gruff angry man spoke, his face unshaven, and a large gold chain around his neck. He sat upon a dirty fold-up chair, and slouched rather low. Italian Stallion, David Paricalli, A fucking unoriginal name, but his nonetheless. He got it from Rocky, and he was a boxer who knocked the heads off one of his competitors, was disqualified, and then promptly punched the heads off of the ref and anyone who tried to stop him from fighting. He had the gift of some pretty powerful arms, clearly. And he could Bull rush or..."Stallionize"... People as he liked to call it, pretty well too.

Laughter came from the group, everyone liked this jerk, for whatever reason. One man was silent, and his suit was fitted well to his body, in black and white. Through a wiked smile his brilliant white teeth shone, and though he was not smiling at the Stallion's prominent vocabulary. He was smiling at the crowd of people who soon would be his. On a particularly strong dosage of Noxadrain, he was surprisingly clear, and conscious. His powers may be surpressed, but his true strength could not be quelled. Black eyeshadow made his eyes seem brighter, more beautiful. He said nothing, but began to plot out his speech. Wheels spinning in his mind, turning gears, unlocking locks, and sending his thought processes into overdrive. The dark, broken down, suit-wearing man sat carefully biding his time. Playing with a small unmarked doll.

(Last edited by Soiex on 07-16-08 11:19 PM)

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This isn't about you and your loud mouth,This is about me and my fucking beard.

"Thank you for the commentary, Mr...Paricalli." Steven's eyes are half-closed to show his discontent.

"How about this, I'm going to just pick people now. Let's start with Mr. Miller." Steven's eyes turn to a man wrapped in a metallic containment suit.

"My name is Penn. I've been diagnosed with navitas magnus, the condition that means my body naturally produces an excess of cosmic energy. I wasn't aware I had it until I combusted the first time ten years ago, killing my wife and everyone else in the apartment complex. I became a supervillian afterwards, and after another combust, I've ended up here. I'm also immune to Noxadrain, which means I have to remain in this suit. They're working on a lighter suit for me, but until then, my movement is limited."

"Thank you very much, Penn. Is there anyone else who would like to go before I have to pick names?"

The suited individual slowly raised his hand, signalling his wish to tell his story next. He sat upright in his chair. His voice was a little strange, and his pronunciations fluctuated between downright quirky, and sophisticated.

"Hello, ladies and gentlemen of the bored, I would like to recant the story of my rise and fall in power. It started one late May morn, after having struck, the most prominent hero of the time, Alabaster Hawk down from his high position as the epitome of justice and good, by running his holier-than-thou image through the mud several times through, and then forcing the most exalted hero to take his own life. This was when my name first was heard round the world, String Master, Marionette, and Jack the Puppeteer, they called me. A master of Manipulation. Forsooth with the power to control the minds and actions of most anyone not mentally prepared a name such as mine was feared much round the land. I targeted these 'Paragons' and dredged up the stinking garbage of their past, like how long time fan favorite, Jumpin' Jack Flash used his powers to gain an unfair advantage in the 2004 Olympic games, hiding behind his original identity, using his super powers to increase his speed just beyond human capabilities!

"I was loved by my kind, and the media, for juicy gossip there never was a better source. The Heroes however, saw my actions as terrible, and underhanded. How dare one such as me bring them to the same level as the normal people. Gossip sure can shatter a Public Image, and none of the Heroes knew who was going to be next. I was brought in on accounts of a mass suicide, which I only partly caused, and sent here, to face the final act in a tragedy rivaling Macbeth!"

With that the String Master lowered his head, convinced the others would take to him now, and they sure did. Anyone who made the heroes look bad, deserved praise, and Marionette was the only one who could make the heroes make themselves look bad.

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This isn't about you and your loud mouth,This is about me and my fucking beard.

He looked towards the orchestrator of the group, his eyes piercing through his dark mane. They locked with Steven -- the right a deep green; the left a cold grey. His eyes were surrounded by patches of skin, each one a different shade than it's neighbor, conjoined by scars that seemed to resemble stitching. The pattern continued over what could be seen of his face, each patch a unique size and shape. His brow protruded slightly, and his lips had a somewhat feminine quality.

"HOW DoeS wilL play iNto this situAtion? We were captUred againSt our will, detained agAinst our will, forced to partiCipate in this inane solUtion of Yours. Tell me, sincE when do we hAve a wiLl oF ouR OWN?"

He reached up and pushed some hair out of his face. He barely managed, his effort hampered by the metal globe surrounding his hands, which were connected at the wrist by a metal bar. His ankles were joined together in a similar manner, and both of the bars were joined together by a chain.

"Will?" A new figure, who had been silent until just now, smirked. "There is plenty of free will here, we have the will to obey Steven, and eventually lead a normal life, although one where we are constantly watched for any signs of danger, or we have the will to disobey, and spend out entire life in this rehibilitation center."

The man looked at all of them. Compared to the rest, he looked almost normal, a man who was clearly intelligent, and, to all outward appearances, didn't look dangerous in the least. That was undoubtedly one of the most dangerous things about him...he didn't appear evil.

"Now, as I was bout to say before you so rudely butted in," the man continued, "my name is Michael Shepherd. Until about six years ago, there was nothing unusual about me. I was just an ordinary man, graduated from a local university, had a major in business, and thought life was far too boring. So, I decided to cause problems with the world. I didn't plan to change it, or rule it, or any such nonsense. I merely wanted to mess it up. So, I developed a series of chemical and computer implants into my body which would make me smarter, stronger, faster, and generally much better than the entire human race at large.

"So, when I killed two super heroes, quietly of course, and discovered several of their identities, they teamed up and took me down. I'm proud to say that I managed to reveal their identities to several of my fellow villians, but in the end, I did fail.

"So, that's my story, but Steven, as our rehabilitation counselor, perhaps it would be useful if you told us your story?"

(Last edited by Vulkar on 07-18-08 02:30 PM)

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This isn't about you and your loud mouth,This is about me and my fucking beard.

Helena set herself down against the tall and expansive chain-link fence of the yard. She tucked her legs up against herself and thought deeply about her situation.

She didn't belong here. Not in this freak show. Not in the world outside. Not anywhere.

She avoided talking in group, thinking that if she spoke up she might inadvertently show acceptance of her situation. She would never consider herself one of these guys especially after hearing their stories or how much they argued.

Helena crossed her arms around her knees, buried her face in them and sobbed a little.

Michael Sheperd walked into the courtyard. He had no suit, simply because while he was much stronger and more powerful than an ordinary human, he was a very minor threat compared to most of the other villains. Strength was not his true power, nor were the computer implants h had in his brain...no, the truely threatening part of him was his intelligence, his ability to bid time, act when right, and deduce many important facts from the least of details...and no suit would ever restrain that.

He walked towards Helena, and sat beside her, "is there something wrong?" he asked. "If there is any way I can be of assistance, please, enlighten me."

Helena looked up suddenly, wiping her eyes and nose as quickly as she could, frightened that someone caught her at such a vulnerable and weakened state.

She looked up at Michael with her startling golden eyes, red and puffy from her tears.

"No.. uh.. thank you. I was just... I dunno. Um... sorry to bother you with my..."

She shrieked slightly as she quickly intook some air, and more salty tears streamed down her face.

Without thinking she snatched Michael's left hand and placed it to her right cheek, feeling its warmth. Human body heat had become so foreign to Helena for so many years that a simple touch was comforting to her.

Stallion shot the shit with some fellas, being generally stupid and getting insulted way too easily. "What, are you talkin' to me? Shut da fuck up tough guy!"

The real show was with Marionette. Surrounding him, there were twenty guys, looking to kick some ass. Sure, Marionette was the best as hurting the heroes, but having never dirtied his own hands caused the other villains to be quite disgruntled. They were prepared to beat Marionette to a pulp, but the guards nearby would surely defeat them before too much damage was done, so all they did was stand around and look intimidating.

"Hmmmmm. This is not right." Marionette's voice was utterly distressed, and it was almost shocking to think that something like this was getting to him. "I specifically asked for tapioca pudding!" Marionette tossed his cup of pudding over his right shoulder, splashing chocolate mess over the tough customer behind him.

"Yo! Fucking Freak. I outta kick the shit out of you!"

"Hmmm." Marionette spoke with a turning of the head. "Perhaps you should do something...useful...like beating the shit out of yourself."

For a few seconds, the guy behind Marionette almost did it. Then shockingly came to his senses, wondering how the hell this happened, and why Marionette was so persuasive, even without powers. Those seconds ended with a bang, as 'tough guy' swung at Marionette and almost instantly had his hand broken by his target. Marionette has spun around to face his assailant, and grasped his fist as he swung, crushing it swiftly.

Just a few moments after that, Marionette received a powerful punch to the stomach, from one of the super guards. Then was thrown into solitary, and fed chocolate pudding and a cheese sandwich, how horrid. Marionette relinquished the silence, the alone time, and the company of his doll. What a wicked creature, holding a small articulated wooden frame, with the head of a stuffed bear, it's left button-eye missing. Carvings were made across the doll, small symbols, which only Marionette knew the meaning of.

"There, there, Theodore. No need to be frightened, it's only a dark room, soon we shall be in the sun again, friend, basking in the sun with the threat of bars long behind us. Soon, dear friend, there will be no place to hold us, soon."

The remaining button-eye on the bear suddenly shimmered a bright green, then passed almost as quickly.

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This isn't about you and your loud mouth,This is about me and my fucking beard.

Silence has permeated the courtyard. The guards are wary. The prisoners more so. Helena, in a flash, was taken to the medical ward. The new inmates notice the others becoming more suspicious of them. Marionette was a new egg, and he'd proven to be rotten.

The scariest normal prisons are children's play in comparison to the scene that had evolved here.

Kowalski looked around, noticing the sea of silent inmates. He backed up slowly, similar to the movements the Italian Stallion, Micheal, and the scarred man with the strange face. Right here, and right now, Kowalski knew this guys were the closest things he was going to have as friends.

Lycaon sat in the courtyard, his placement irrelevant. He remained in his bonds, for he required no nourishment. He could feel the sights from the two rifles trained on his back. He had escaped before, and they knew he would again. He observed the events around him: the Michael comforting Helena, Stallion's abrasive conversations, the accosting of Marionette. How silly, these people's need for human interaction, to belong. It was a weakness, one he prided himself in not being part of.

He tensed his muscles, and felt his bonds groan in resistance, but they didn't give; they never did.